Lucky Seven
by TheTBone
Summary: With Callie gone, Jude feels as if he is left to fend for himself. But when he comes down with an illness, and his battle gets too big to face alone, will anyone be there to help him? And will Jude allow himself to be helped in this home that seems too good to be true? Takes place during episode 1x12, "House and Home"
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own The Fosters. (Duh.)**

It's not like it was unusual for Jude to wake up in the middle of the night. It wasn't even unusual for Jude not to sleep at all on any given night. Sleep didn't come easy to Jude, and as far as he could remember, it never really had. It was a fact that he had long since accepted since his mother died, which was practically his whole lifetime ago. Sure, it had gotten better here. Sleep had come easier with his new and improved surroundings, but it was temporary.

It was always temporary.

There were different reasons for each house, of course. In Foster Home Number One, it had been too loud to sleep, given that there were a total of eight other kids there and he shared a bedroom with four of them, two of the children being infants. Foster Home Number Two had been the foster home of scarce food, and anyone who knows will tell you that it's practically impossible to sleep on an empty, begging stomach. Foster Homes Number Three and Four had brought about insomnia out of fear. Sleeping was dangerous because then you couldn't watch your back. In Three and Four, you always had to watch your back. Always.

Foster Home Number Five had been different. Five had been the Olmsteads: the best foster home he and Callie had ever been placed in. Things changed for him in Five. He could actually usually sleep through the night without too much of a challenge. And that was a mistake – the biggest mistake of his life. He broke the cardinal rule of the foster system: he got too comfortable. It was too good to be true and he should have known it. He should have known it, but he didn't. And look how that turned out.

Foster Home Six was basically a repeat of the nightmares of Three and Four, made worse by the fact that he was all alone for part of it when Callie went to juvie. Being split up from Callie was the scariest time of his life. It was worse than any beating or hunger he had ever experienced, and he would've willingly gotten hit a thousand times, stopped eating for a week if it meant that Callie would be back with him.

And then there was Foster Home Number Seven. Lucky Seven. The Fosters.

He began to sleep through the night almost immediately here. It scared him at first. It terrified him because it was beginning to feel a whole lot like Five and he remembered what had happened there. But he ignored the fears and he accepted it. He let himself start to feel comfortable again, and he began to get used to it. He pushed down any hesitation he had and dove right in.

Stupid.

Because it was Five all over again and he should have known it would be. And not only was it Five, but it was Five mixed with Six because not only did this house have Liam 2.0, but it had Liam 2.0 and now there was no Callie either.

Jude hadn't slept a full night past the wedding. When he did manage to sleep, he was awakened nine or ten times a night with that awful reminder: Callie was gone.

So it came as no surprise to Jude when his eyes shot open in the panicked, dreadful realization that played over and over, a mantra in his mind. _Callie was gone. Callie was gone. Callie was gone._ But for some reason, this felt different. Even worse, somehow, than all the other nights. He was so cold, but so, so hot. He could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck and crawling down his skin, his body slippery and bumpy and chilly and burning.

His already racing heart sped up even faster when he opened his eyes and couldn't immediately identify his surroundings. But then he remembered. He was in Callie's bed, sitting on the familiar grey paisley sheets that were so…Callie. The matching pillowcase still smelled like her too, which was comforting and devastating all at once.

He looked over at the bed on the opposite side of the room, which contained the sleeping figure of Mariana. She was being so nice to him lately, and it felt so good and comforting, but at the same time he had never felt more like a traitor. It probably looked like he was trying to replace Callie with her, which of course, he wasn't, but still…

It felt so nice to sleep in here, because in an odd way, he felt a lot more connected to Callie in her bed, like she wasn't so far away. But in another sense, nothing was more painful and it felt like she had never been farther and it just felt so wrong. She should be in here, not him, but she wasn't. And it was his fault.

Sure, Brandon said that it wasn't, but why should he believe anything that Brandon said? He was not to be trusted, because he was just like the rest. Just another Liam who did whatever it took to get his way. He was the selfish one, not Callie, and Jude should have figured that out earlier. Maybe Callie would still be around if he had…

Jude wished for nothing more than for Callie to be here with him right now, because she'd know what to do. She'd know what to say to make his stomach stop twisting and his head stop pounding and his flesh stop burning. He had to get out of this bed. He had to get out of this room.

He glanced over at Mariana again, making sure she was sound asleep before saying a small prayer and getting off the bed as quickly and quietly as possible. He ran on his tiptoes out the door and into the hallway, awkwardly prancing past tables and strewn shoes and everything in between, making his way as efficiently as he could to the hall bathroom. Mariana may be a heavy sleeper, but there was no way she'd sleep through this.

Jude pulled the door closed, propped open the toilet seat, and tried to vomit as quietly as possible. To most people, that probably sounded silly, but to Jude it was absolutely vital. In house Three Callie had made the mistake of getting sick loudly and all over her bed, and suffered the consequences for it, and Jude swore that he would do everything in his power never to let that happen. Callie always taught him to learn from her mistakes so he didn't have to make as many as her.

Jude didn't get sick very often. The last time he had gotten sick was early in his time at Six, and Callie had thankfully been there to care for him. The two somehow managed not to let their foster father find out about it at all, and it was like it had never even happened. Callie had been there to rub his stomach and snag some cough drops from the top of a teacher's desk at school, and so it hadn't been so bad.

He felt tears sting at his eyes, and he didn't know if it was from illness or guilt or sadness or a mixture of all of them. Before he knew it tears were streamed down his face, gravity pulling them into the bowl he was still leaned over, mixing with toilet water and the contents he had just disposed of.

He was near hysterical now, though he had enough sense to keep his sobs quiet.

Or at least he thought he was being quiet.

"Jude," a tired, hoarse whisper came from the other side of the door. "Is that you in there?"

He froze and lifted his head. This was the last thing he wanted to happen.

"Jude, what are you doing in there? Ugh, forget it, I'm coming in," the voice whispered again, impatient, carelessly barging through the door. The casual footsteps stopped immediately upon the sight of him. "Jude, oh my god, are you okay?"

Did he look _okay_? No he wasn't _okay_. What a stupid question. He was the farthest thing from _okay_. But of course, he didn't say any of those things. Instead, he had to work up the courage to look over at the figure to the left of him. A face probably full of annoyance and irritation and anger, because even though she might be nice to him sometimes, he interrupted her beauty sleep. He braced himself for the impact, the blow of realization that he had once again been kidding himself thinking people in this house were different and actually cared about him. Callie was the only one that really cared about him, and now that she was gone, he wasn't safe. He never would be.

It shocked him to see her face, and he had to blink to make sure it was real. She looked so…worried. And sincere. And he had trouble believing that anyone, much less a teenage diva, would be able to show that type of emotion towards him. Day and night were two different animals and night showed people's true colors, the darkness illuminating their real selves. Sure, she'd let him stay with her that night, but it's not like she wanted to deal with him. She pitied him, but in the end no one was truly altruistic, and egotism always won out over pity.

"Are you…do you need something? Can I do something?" Mariana asked, still keeping her distance. She could smell the rancidness of throw-up, and while Mariana's compassion was strong, her gag reflexes were not.

"I'm okay," Jude replied weakly, attempting to stand. He grasped the sink, but struggled to stand up, wobbling and almost collapsing to the floor. Mariana's eyes widened, and her instincts won out over her disgust for whatever was in that toilet. She rushed over to Jude, and steadied him, but made sure to look as far away as possible from the substance.

"Whoa," she said, catching him. "Are you okay?" she asked again. He really wished she'd stop asking him that, but was too tired to even manage a reply. Suddenly, he was so very tired.

"Um," Mariana took a step back once Jude was once again safely grounded, sitting on the floor. She bit her lip, and almost gnawed on a fingernail before she remembered how unsanitary and gross that would be, considering she just touched a sick person coated with a plethora of contagious germs. "I'll go get moms," she said, turning on her heel to hurry out the door. Who was she kidding, she was good for things like nail polish and offering extra pillows, but she was way out of her league with this one.

"You don't have to," Jude managed.

Mariana gave him an odd look, her eyebrows crinkled. "Jude, you're sick. They'll want to know. And they'll kill me if I let you stay in here by yourself and don't tell them," she said, exaggerating the end to try and lighten the mood, the attempt going unnoticed by Jude.

"No, don't bother them. Just go back to bed. I'll be fine," he said, his assuring sounding more like pleading.

Mariana's face softened, and it all clicked. Her mind flashed back to the first time she hadn't felt well with Stef and Lena. It was scary, getting sick at a foster home. You didn't know how people were going to react, you didn't know if you could trust them to take care of you. She couldn't imagine how it would be without Callie. At least she had had Jesus to get through it with.

She pursed her lips in sympathy. She felt for him, but she knew what she had to do. "I'll be right back," she promised, and managed to work past her own personal nausea to touch his shoulder lightly. "It'll be okay," she said, before making her way down the hall.

_No,_ Jude thought, defeated, _it wouldn't be_. But there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was sit and let everyone else control him. He had no power, but what was new? So he sat on the tile and picked at a thread on the hem of his pajama pants and waited for the inevitable arrival.

**I hope you enjoyed! This story is going to end up being a three-parter. Thank you for reading, and please leave your thoughts in a review. I'd love to hear from you!**


	2. Chapter 2

Jude was only slightly relieved when it was Lena who came through the door. Though he wasn't even close to being totally comfortable with either of his foster parents, he had taken more to Lena from the start.

She had been the one to help him with his math and to show him around school and to help him take off his nail polish, and he supposed he should be thankful he was facing the lesser of the two evils. She seemed like she could handle more. They already had so much on their plate with Callie running away and Stef being in the hospital and Mariana and Jesus' situation with Ana. The last thing they needed was more to deal with, much less just pitiful old him. He didn't want to bother them anymore, and he wished more than anything Callie was here and they could keep this all between them. Stef and Lena wouldn't even have to know and they wouldn't have to be stretched any thinner, especially not for just a temporary fixture.

Lena pulled her hair into a haphazard bun on the top of her head as she pushed her way inside.

"Hey, honey," she said as she entered, her brown eyes tired, but strangely attentive. "Not feeling well?" she asked, raising a hand to touch his forehead, wincing at the heat.

"I'm okay," Jude said. He had an urge to push her hand away, but he didn't because that would be rude and Lena would know it was rude and she didn't need to deal with rudeness right now. But he still didn't want her touching him because then she'd be too close. Callie always warned him not to get too close, and that it was only a matter of time before they'd be uprooted and have to start all over again. He should've listened when he had the chance, but at least he still remembered her words, and he'd start following them. He'd slowly distance himself so it didn't hurt so badly when it all fell apart.

"Mm," Lena made a sound that sounded like a sigh, and stood up, walking over to the mirror that opened up into a medicine cabinet. She rummaged around for a few minutes before grabbing a plastic case with an odd-looking contraption inside.

"Can I take your temperature really fast?" she said, looking back at Jude sitting on the floor as she rested the case on the sink and began to pry it open. He thought it was weird she was asking him permission. As if he actually had a choice in the matter. As if saying no was actually an option.

"I guess," he said, spying Mariana slowly walking past the door and back to her bedroom. She didn't look inside the bathroom, and he was glad because he probably would've glared at her. She had told even when he told her not to.

"All right," Lena said to herself, crouching down to meet Jude. He reflexively opened his mouth, closing it abruptly when Lena gave him a puzzled look. Her confused gaze was soon replaced with realization, and soon after that, a small smile followed.

"Oh, no sweetheart, this is the kind that goes in your ear," she said, gently tilting his chin to have better access to the side of his face.

"Oh," Jude replied. He felt stupid, but how was he supposed to know? He vaguely remembered his mom having a glass one that had to go in his mouth. He didn't even know you could get a temperature by putting something in your ear.

He felt a small _click_ reverberate off his eardrum, and suddenly the object was removed from his ear and Lena was looking at it. She didn't look happy.

"Hm," she muttered, her forehead creasing as she put the thermometer back in its case.

"Is it bad?" Jude asked anxiously.

"No, Jude," she reassured him. "You just have a little bit of a fever," she said with a tiny smile. One thing Jude did like about Lena is that she almost always seemed to smile when Jude needed it. "Does anything hurt?" Lena asked, taking his hands in her own.

_Everything hurts_. "I guess my stomach and my head. But just a little," he replied.

Lena nodded. "Well you should be okay after a little while. I'll get you some medicine and once you get some sleep you should feel a bit better. Would you like to come sleep in our bed for tonight?"

He asked it so casually that it threw Jude off guard. No one had ever asked him that. Foster parents' bedrooms were off-limits, expressly forbidden. He would never dream of just walking in there let alone sleeping in there let alone with other people. Sure, he'd been in there with Sharon for a brief time, but he figured that didn't really count.

"No," he said quickly. "I don't want to bother you."

"You wouldn't be bothering us, sweetheart. It's certainly your choice, but you're absolutely welcome to join us."

Jude bit his lip. He was torn and beyond conflicted. Why wasn't Callie here? She would tell him what to do. She would probably tell him no, but at least she'd have a solid answer. She knew what she was doing. But Callie wasn't here to tell him no. And the temptation was strong, very strong.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," Lena said, gently rubbing her thumb over the top of his hand. "You go on ahead and get situated, and I'll grab you some medicine, okay?" Lena said, helping him up and guiding him to her and Stef's room.

Jude walked slowly, hesitantly into the dark, silent room. It was weird being in here. He stopped when he spied Stef lying on the bed, her eyes closed. He shouldn't go in, right? He couldn't. He didn't want to wake her up. His breathing quickened and he wished he had never agreed to this. He certainly wished Lena hadn't gone to get the medicine.

"Jude?" he heard Stef whisper, her eyes still closed. "That you?" she mumbled.

Jude nodded before he realized that she couldn't see him nod with her eyes closed, obviously.

"Yes," he said, swallowing hard. He broke into a sweat again, but this time it wasn't because of the fever.

"Come here, sweets," she said, squinting open an eye and holding out her arms.

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. _Don't get too close. It'll only hurt you in the long run._

"There's plenty of room, love. I don't bite," she said, patting the bed beside her, scooting even further to the edge.

Jude could feel footsteps behind him. Lena was here, and it was too late. There was no turning back now. He was in too deep. He slowly paced over to the bed, self-consciously climbing in, as if he was maneuvering onto a priceless statue instead of a bed.

Seconds later he felt the bed even out as Lena's added weight sunk down beside him, handing him a small cup of grape flavored medicine, which he downed without argument. Lena took the tiny empty container, abandoning it on the bedside table, before resting a hand on his shoulder.

He was sandwiched in between them, and it surprisingly didn't make him feel claustrophobic or trapped. It made him feel…not comfortable, exactly, but something. And it wasn't a bad feeling.

He figured he should probably try to stay awake and conscious, keep his eyes open and alert, but his lids were heavy, and soon he didn't have the energy to fight it.

Maybe he was in too deep. Maybe he was just setting himself up to get hurt again, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. He'd deal with it in the morning. His walls would be back up by sunrise. He might as well savor it now, while he still could. So he closed his eyes and drifted off into a peaceful, much-needed sleep.

**A bit of a shorter chapter, but I hope you all still enjoyed it! The next and final installment should be up by Monday. Thanks for reading and please continue to review! All of your kind comments were overwhelming and I am extremely grateful and humbled by the response to this story. Special thanks to Liz and Grace for all of their help.**


	3. Chapter 3

Stef's right arm flopped over, feeling around for another sign of life. Sadly, she was disappointed when she came up empty-handed, the only feeling a cold sheet beneath her fingers. She sighed. She was used to it.

Ever since the damn shooting, she had been bored out of her mind. She was going stir-crazy in her little craftsman. Stef and downtime did not get along, so her leave of absence was her worst enemy at the moment.

She told Lena to wake her up when she was leaving, but that woman was a ninja slipping out of bed. She didn't make a sound as she dressed and showered, which was pretty impressive considering Stef was a pretty light sleeper. She'd applaud her if her habits weren't so obnoxious. Stef was not a morning person by any means, but she missed the hustle and bustle of early mornings. Even the near-impossible challenge of getting all the kids out the door without killing them while keeping them from killing each other would be a welcome one at this point. Anything to get her back into the routine.

She was so ready to get back to work. The solitude and quiet of being alone every day, cooped up while everyone else was out in the real world was something she wasn't fond of.

She rolled over and glanced at the clock. It was almost ten, which surprised her. Even during her break from work, she couldn't remember the last time she had slept in past nine. What confused her even more was how tired she still was considering how late she'd slept.

She rubbed at her eyes, shrugging off the oddities, before the blurry memories of the early hours cleared and the realization hit her hard. She vaguely remembered being shaken awake by a concerned-sounding Mariana informing her that Jude had gotten sick.

She'd wanted to go to him, wanting nothing more to care for him, but was gently discouraged by Lena. Of course, her wife was right. One person going to him would be overwhelming enough, the last thing he needed was two of them. Still, she couldn't help but wish Jude was comfortable enough to accept them both. He was so much like his sister.

She had pacified her maternal longings by calming a shaken Mariana. Oh Miss Thing. She was a handful, but she had a huge heart, and she'd been through her fair share of hell as well back in her younger days, the sight of seeing Jude so sick and helpless conjuring up memories of her own haunted past.

After Stef had spent a few moments consoling her daughter, the teen had gone back to bed, leaving Stef alone. She closed her eyes again, in that half-state between consciousness and sleep, when she felt another presence in the room, assuming it to be Lena coming back. However, as moments passed, and she felt no one next to her, she'd given into curiosity and peeked out to see a distraught Jude, and attempted to coax the poor boy into getting some sleep.

Her forehead creased as she glanced over once again. Had she gone crazy? Had she just not seen him when she first woke up? Having no luck with the once-over of the room, she felt it safe to assume that he had either felt well enough and gone to school with the others or was now somewhere else in the house.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, simultaneously throwing her hair up into a messy ponytail. Her heartbeat raced.

It was completely stupid, she knew. The worrying was useless and unfounded. But a little part of her couldn't help but feel like she had let it happen all over again. She assumed the worst now, and she hated that, but it had happened once and who was to say it wouldn't happen again? Jude wouldn't have run away though, right? He couldn't have. She suppressed the urge to yell his name in panic as she stepped into the hallway. She didn't want to scare him or unnecessarily freak him out, but she wanted to call out for him so badly. Because she couldn't bear to lose another one.

Her body flooded with relief and she let out an audible, grateful sigh when she saw that the light to the hall bathroom was on. Lena made sure to turn all the lights off before she left, so Jude must be in there.

However, her relief was short-lived when she heard retches echoing into the hallway.

She lightly pushed the door open, her heart breaking as she saw the little boy hunched over the toilet, alone. He looked so small. So helpless. In between the heaves wracking his tiny frame, she could hear soft sobs as well. Seeing him in this state was enough to make her sick to her own stomach.

"Hey, baby," she said quietly, kneeling down next to him. Unlike Mariana, she had no serious aversion to ailments. She figured you kind of became immune to that sort of thing after changing diapers and doing the laundry of a teenage athlete.

Upon her presence, Stef noticed a significant change. He was still throwing up – he couldn't exactly control that – but he was choking back the sobs now. She could tell he was holding back his tears, which wasn't exactly working in his favor. As he was trying to contain his crying, his breaths were hitching and getting caught in his throat, which, mixed with getting sick, was dangerous.

It almost sounded like he was hyperventilating, the fact that he couldn't catch his breaths sending him even deeper into hysteria.

"Hey, hey, hey, calm," she said soothingly, tenderly placing her palm on his back, rubbing calming circles. "Shh, just breathe, honey. Just breathe."

He was trying, he really was, but the more he tried the more the panic set in. He felt like he was underwater.

"Jude, Jude, sweetheart, I need you to look at me," she said, grabbing his shoulders. She tried to be as gentle as possible, but she didn't really have a choice. The poor kid was on the verge of a panic attack, and comfort would have to come second to safety. "You have to breathe with me, okay? In," she said, demonstrating an over-exaggerated inhalation. "And out," she let out a deep exhale. "In. And out. Come on, Jude. In. And out. Good job, buddy, there you go. In. Out."

He did the best he could to follow her, and after awhile, it did start to work. Within a couple minutes of coos and coaching, his breathing was down to a mild pant.

"You okay, baby?" she asked once she was confident that the situation was under control.

Why'd she have to call him that? _Baby_. That's what Callie called him. Only she was allowed to call him that. But, once again, Callie wasn't here. Because of him.

Jude gave a slight nod, an unconvincing nod that Stef wasn't buying.

She swept a piece of hair behind his ear that sweat had plastered to his face. She felt his forehead and his pale cheeks. They were clammy. Not a good sign.

She stood and grabbed a washcloth from the drawer, getting it damp in the sink.

"You feel like you're going to be sick again?" she asked.

Jude considered the question, but ultimately shook his head. He'd be okay, physically, for awhile at least.

"Feel like going to the couch? My bed? Your bed? Would you rather stay in here just in case?" she asked, wringing the towel in the sink.

"Um, anywhere is fine," he shrugged timidly.

"Well where would you feel most comfortable, sweets?"

He didn't want to tell her the truth. He didn't want to be selfish again. She'd already done more than enough, and he'd just tough it up on his own. But her eyes, they looked so honest and trustworthy. And what did he have to lose by saying it? She technically offered, and if it was just out of politeness, she could tell him so and that would be that.

"I guess your bed," he said, barely above a whisper.

"Excellent," Stef said. "You go, I'm just going to grab some supplies," she informed, a mischievousness to her tone as she gave him a small wink.

He crawled back into bed, pulling up the covers to his chin while he waited for Stef to return.

"Okay," she said, returning a moment later with an assortment of many, many things. Everything from board games to coloring books to a tiny DVD player was piled in her arms. "I figured we'd need some activities if we're both going to be cooped up in here all day long. What do you say? Where shall we start? Games, coloring, movies, moving the bed up and down really really fast and pretending like we're at an amusement park?"

Jude bit his lip, picking at a hangnail. He appreciated all of this, he really did. In fact, it all felt like a dream almost, a wonderful dream. But the thing was, not only was he not really up for this, but it's not like he deserved it either. The sickness and the sadness and the losing sleep at night, that's what he deserved for everything.

Stef noticed the pained look on his face and took the hint. "Not up for it quite yet? Don't worry, we have nothing but time. Lucky for you I also have some ginger ale and medicine, so how about we just take it easy for right now, yes?"

Jude nodded, and as Stef was handing him the glass of ginger ale, she saw something in his eyes, something that told her this was more than just the sickness talking. She had no doubt he really was ill, that much was clear, but it was obvious stress was making it worse, and something else, too? He almost looked guilty.

Damn these kids and their secrets.

"Here, sit up," she instructed, helping him sip from the ginger ale, and gently running a cool wash cloth over his face and neck.

"Feel a little better?" she asked, once again getting another wordless nod for an answer.

She lounged down next to him, getting under the blankets as well as they laid wordlessly side-by-side. Stef was trying to figure out how to get him to open up. He was going to heal much faster, physically and emotionally, if he didn't keep everything bottled up.

The room was taken over by a comfortable silence as each was left to their own thoughts. Stef endeavoring to get Jude to open up and Jude's guilt consuming him.

He should tell her. He had to. She had the right to know the real reason why Callie left. He couldn't let Brandon take the blame anymore, because it had been him. It had been all his doing and he just had to face the consequences because he couldn't stand her kind names and concern for him. It was his fault she had gone and it was his fault that Stef and Lena had so much more to deal with. It was time to tell the truth. It was time to cut them off. It was time to self-destruct.

"It's all my fault, you know," he said, trying to leave emotion out of his voice. Callie could do it, and so should he.

Stef propped up onto her elbow, facing the boy, who stared at the ceiling. "What's your fault, sweets?" she asked, making a move to sweep back his hair, though he flinched away, unwilling to allow it. Stef's eyes widened, and she paid even more attention to the boy than before, if that was even possible. Jude never rejected physical affection. He welcomed comforting touch, unlike his sister, and so this set off warning bells for Stef.

"Callie left because of me," he said. _Don't cry, Jude. Don't you dare cry. You have no right to cry. You only brought this on yourself. And it's necessary. This is absolutely necessary. You _have_ to push her away. Push, as hard as you can._

"That's not true, darling," Stef said, once again reaching out, once again being shoved away.

"It is true!" Jude said, with surprising volume. Tears stung at his eyes. "I called her selfish and she ran away because I'm a horrible brother!" he said, practically leaping off the bed. He was dizzy but he didn't care. Let him be dizzy. He deserved it.

"Sweetheart, you are the farthest thing from being a horrible brother," Stef said with conviction, standing up from the bed as well.

"You're wrong," Jude said. The sudden movements were making him sicker, and it was all coming back full-force. "You say that nothing's changed but it has! _Everything _has changed. Callie's in a group home and she's not coming back and it's my fault. I made her run away and now she's gone and all she ever does is try to protect me, and all she ever gets for it is trouble. I don't deserve her. And I don't deserve Lena or you either," he said in a strained tone before running off to the bathroom once again.

Stef wordlessly followed him, walking slow steps behind him. She knew he didn't mean this, not really, not in the magnitude he was saying it. He was still relatively young and sick and guilty and confused. His miniature tantrum was almost to be expected given the circumstances.

She pulled open the door that Jude had slammed only seconds before (a habit he had probably learned from Mariana, Stef hated to admit), and once again knelt next to the boy.

He was leaned over the toilet, yet the only thing coming out was tears. At this point, it was a defense mechanism, a desperate way to hide, but Stef wasn't fooled by the act.

She placed a finger under his chin and positioned his face so he had no choice but to look straight at her.

"You deserve everything good in the world, my sweet boy. Everything good in the world."

"I don't," he said half-heartedly, tears staining his cheeks, his eyes swollen, his whole face messy and wet from a failed effort to wipe the tears with his sleeve. That was something Stef could help him with.

She put her thumbs to his cheeks, softly ridding them of tears. "Shh, that's the fever talking, love. You know that isn't true. We just talked about this, Jude. Lena and I want to do absolutely everything in our power to make sure you get all the goodness you deserve. We're not giving up on you. Not now, not ever, no matter what happens."

Of course, that would have been an appropriate response to his earlier remarks, the ones said out of frustration and guilt and anger, but it's not what he wanted or needed to hear. He wanted answers. Answers she couldn't give him.

"Why'd she leave me?" he asked, looking up at her with questioning eyes.

"I don't know, babe. I don't know," she shook her head.

"I miss her," he admitted, his lip quivering.

"I know you do. So do I," she said, giving him a small smile.

"You do?"

"Of course I do. We all do. We all love you and Callie and we hate seeing you sad. And, you want to know a secret?" she asked, sinking down, leaning against the bathtub, a protective arm around Jude.

Jude nodded, snuggling into her side, his eyes once again growing heavy.

"Mothers have it the worst of all, because when their kids hurt, they hurt even worse. When one of you guys is sad, we feel even sadder. Did you know that?" she asked quietly, rubbing her hand up and down his arm.

Jude shook his head. His eyes were almost fully closed now, and Stef took this opportunity to place a hand to his forehead. His fever was down a bit. He was still warm, but he was on the mend. She leaned her head against the wall. In all the excitement, she had almost forgotten how tired she was. Almost.

"Stef?" Jude asked, both their eyes closed by now.

"Yes, love?"

"When your kids are happy, do you feel even happier? Or when your kids feel loved do you feel even more loved?"

Stef smiled, a real smile for the first time today.

"Yes, I do."

"You probably feel pretty loved right now then."

_Don't cry, Stef. Don't cry._

She placed a kiss on his temple. "I do, baby. I really do."

**That's the end of this particular story. I hope you all liked it! Thanks so much for all your kind reviews. It really means a lot, and I hope you'll jot a quick response to this chapter as well. I'd love to hear your feedback. Special thanks to Grace and Liz for their fabulous help.**


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